It’s just a little crush

Crush

(noun)

A strong but temporary feeling of liking someone

(verb)

To upset or shock someone

To defeat someone completely

* * *

Our first date was the best date I’ve ever had.

We went ice skating at Ally Pally ice rink. We got there too early, so walked around the gardens first. I fancied him as soon as I saw him, and I could tell he fancied me too. We were flirting like schoolkids – playful, and teasing, and physical. We held hands on the ice, and at one point I fell onto my knees in front of him and told him I was ‘just practicing’ in a provocative way.

He kept trying to push me into the wall, and one of the times he decided to stop me from going too fast into it at the last second. That part of the wall turned out to be a door, so I would have fallen straight through it and out of the ice rink. He joked for the next few months about how the date would have been even better if only he’d actually pushed me through that door. I agree – it would have been hilarious (you know, as long as I didn’t have to go to A&E afterwards).

After ice skating we went to the Jolly Angler pub for drinks and there was karaoke on. We had our first kiss to someone’s bad version of ‘Hallelujah’ and I was happy to discover he was a great kisser. I decided to sing the classic 90s one hit wonder ‘Crush’ by Jennifer Paige and he took a video of me singing on his phone. I probably knew even then that singing it was ‘just a little crush’ was a case of the lady doth protest too much, that I would end up quite liking him, and that would be my downfall.

After karaoke, we got takeaway, and he came home with me, (we didn’t have sex), we just watched Peep Show and stayed up until 6am talking. It was exciting getting to know someone new.

He was funny, and smart, and sexually open minded, we got along well, and played chess (which he usually won), and I could be myself with him and I enjoyed us spending time together. He remembered which days I was doing certain things, like hosting my quiz, and would text me to ask how it was. We went for bagels on Brick Lane, he bought me presents for my birthday, we played pool, he poured milk on me in my shower in a kinky way, he came to watch my blog reading and my stand-up gig, and I fucked him with my strap-on. Great sex and awesome date activities. It was exactly what I wanted.

I waited for him for 6 weeks because he went travelling to Madagascar and then away to his sister’s prom.

On our next date, we went for dinner, and then had amazing sex where I tied him to my bed and dripped hot candle wax on him. (He said he’d never seen me look so happy). He had a very high pain threshold and I found that so sexy about him.

It’s so precarious at the beginning. I feel as though you are skating on thin ice, making sure they don’t think you like them too much because they’ll get scared and run away. My problem is I’m not very good at holding back or playing it cool. So when he started not texting me as much, instead of chilling out and letting him come to me, I started texting even more and went a bit overboard with it.

On our last date, we went to Ally Pally Summer Festival. I had a bit of a go at him for not texting me that much that week and he said he would text me more. Everything seemed fine and he introduced me to some of his friends. He text me later that night, but then after that went a bit AWOL again. I didn’t really understand what was happening, but we eventually met for lunch today and he explained.

That day, I’d asked him if he’d spoken to his ex-girlfriend recently, because I knew he’d been there with her the year before and it was on my mind, and he said that made him realise that we were getting ‘serious’ and he got scared. I suddenly realised when he told me this that he’s not totally over her, and maybe didn’t take enough time to process what happened between them before meeting me. It seems like he repressed those feelings and hasn’t dealt with them fully yet. I also think that sometimes even if a man likes you he can get freaked out if you come on too strong and/ or he’s not in the right head space for a relationship. 

Today was weird. It didn’t feel like a break up in the traditional sense because he was saying things you wouldn’t normally say like ‘I really like you’, and still being a bit flirty. He also said conflicting things. When I asked him what he wanted it sounded like he wants the same things I do (play chess, have sex, and go out sometimes). But he said he thinks I want something more, and he can’t give me that right now. Then the next minute he said he doesn’t know what he wants. Then he made a joke about meeting up in a year and going ice skating. Then he said he had a really fun day with me at the Summer Festival. WHAT A HEAD FUCK.

I wish I hadn’t been so needy, and put so much energy into wanting him to like me, and I wish I hadn’t asked him about his ex, but it’s hard to know whether it would have made a difference or not. Perhaps we just met at the wrong time. It’s so frustrating when you meet someone you have great chemistry with and so much fun with, and you can tell that they were really into you at the start, but now they don’t want to continue seeing you. I feel sad, and angry, and rejected, and deceived, and disappointed, and confused all at once. I could probably spend hours thinking about what I could have done differently but I’m going to try not to torture myself about it too much.

I wanted to say to him thank you for all the good times we had together, for the best first date ever, for coming to my shows with me, for the milk, and the candle wax, and of course, the pegging.

But I couldn’t find the words to say all this, so I just said bye and we hugged and I watched him walk away, turning round once to look back at me, like a fucking tease. Talk about mixed messages.

Towards the end of the conversation, I told him I’m going to give him some space for him to miss me, and perhaps we can text each other in a month or so and see where we’re at. Maybe I will have met someone else by then, maybe I’ll have forgotten about him, or maybe we’ll meet up again, and play chess and go ice skating, and I’ll push him through that door. I don’t know what the future holds, but for now I’ll just have to focus on being creative, and doing stuff for me, after I’ve listened to Jennifer Paige…

 

Living in the moment

I’m addicted to my phone. I have it with me all the time. I check it probably hundreds of times a day. I spend hours messaging people and hours on social media. It runs my life. Phone addiction is a real thing, and I’m sure there are people reading this that have the same problem. It’s widely known now that when you check your phone and you have a notification, it increases your dopamine levels, and that’s why we keep doing it.

I feel more and more that smart phones have ruined my attention span and ability to focus. Sometimes I will be listening to a podcast or watching a TV show, and I will still check Twitter or be Whatsapping someone at the same time. It’s distracting, time wasting, and bad for your health. I often have days where I think what did I actually do today? And the answer is just play on my phone.

At the weekend I went away to Suffolk for a friend’s wedding. I didn’t know there was going to be a beach nearby so that was a nice surprise, as I fucking love beaches. (Not packing a bikini did not stop me, as I can swim just as mediocrely in a vest top and shorts). There was no signal at all on the beach, and it made my beach experience so much better.  I did take some pictures but that only took a few minutes.

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The rest of the time, I wrote my morning pages and then I swam for ages because there was literally nothing else for me to do. It was a great spontaneous artist’s date, that I could just enjoy for what it was without mindlessly scrolling my Facebook news feed.

On the walk back to the B&B I got signal, (this was handy to check I was walking in the right direction because I’d got a lift on the way there), but the walk took longer than it was meant to, as I kept checking my phone. I did have to send one message about arrangements for getting to the church later, but the others could have waited. I also accidentally sat on a stinging nettle when I stopped to do stuff on my phone, so I guess that was the universe’s way of telling me to get off my fucking phone. Having said that, I discovered that I actually quite like the feeling of stinging nettles, and could totally incorporate this into some kinky outdoor sex in the future.

Recently I have been trying to put my phone on flight mode when I want to get stuff done, but I still find that 5 minutes later I will just take the phone off flight mode. Today I really wanted to try and break this habit, so I intentionally went out without my phone for probably the first time in about 16 years.

And again, without being able to use my phone, I had an awesome time. I took some bags to the recycling centre, then walked to Ally Pally park. With no phone to distract me, I noticed my surroundings more. I looked at the clouds. I watched a bee pollinate every flower in sight, and enjoyed the feeling of the grass under my skin and bare feet.

It was a little frustrating not being able to take any photos, but I soon got over it. I wrote a few poems in my notebook and appreciated  just being in the park. I wished I’d taken my hula hoop, so maybe I will do that in future. I had no idea what time it was, because I haven’t worn a watch since circa 2004, but there was something really lovely about this. Eventually I realised I was going to get hungry soon and needed to get some dinner. So next time I will take food too.

Being in the shops was another challenge, as I didn’t have anything to occupy myself while queuing, but it was actually okay. I channelled my inner 90s gal and it worked. I feel like we were all so much more patient back then. Because you had to be. You had to wait for so long for everything. Music, TV Shows, Movies, Dial Up Internet.

You had to actually phone someone on a landline if you wanted to talk to them. And sometimes they weren’t in.  If you wanted to skip a song, you had to fast forward and then guess when to stop it. And then maybe sometimes you went too far and you had to rewind. When you stopped that cassette tape in just the right place, that was a satisfying moment. We don’t have moments like these anymore. Everything is at our fingertips, which is why we get so impatient if someone doesn’t text back straight away or our WiFi stops working. But maybe we should learn some of the patience we had back then.

When I got home, I resisted the urge to check my phone, and put my food in the fridge first. Then I went on my phone and immediately lost 10 minutes of my life to Twitter, so now it’s on flight mode, and has been for the last three hours. Go self control. I’m definitely going to try and go out without my phone more often, and hopefully this will train my brain not to check it all the time when I do have it with me. Because I don’t want to look back on my life and realise I wasted half of it staring at a little screen.

Smartphones are great, and social media is great –  I wouldn’t have so many people reading my blog without it. But like everything in life – they need to be consumed in moderation.

The Best Kind of Sex

The best kind of sex is the sex you didn’t know you would be having when you woke up that morning. The kind that blindsides you some idle Monday, because you thought he had a girlfriend, and you wouldn’t get to fuck him again for a very long time. And yes you said you were giving up casual sex, but really you meant you were giving up casual sex with idiots from the internet that you just met.

The best kind of sex is casual sex with a man you know really well, whom you have nostalgia and memories with. Who knows what you like, what to say and do. Sex where there’s no ‘what will this lead to?’, because you already played that scenario out, and he doesn’t want to be (metaphorically) tied down. The best kind of sex is sex with an ex, partly because it rhymes.

The best kind of sex is the sex where beforehand you have deep conversations, mixed with flirtation, and when you insult and tease each other, you start getting very turned on.

The best kind of sex is the sex where you’re really excited about playing chess first and you get drunk and play strip chess, (and you win). Even though you’ve seen each other naked loads of times, but he hasn’t seen your tits since they grew a whole cup size. And you’d forgotten just how beautiful his nipples are.

The best kind of sex is aggressive, filthy, and funny. Sex where he chokes you, and sticks his fingers down your throat. Where he pulls your nipples so hard that you scream, and he covers your mouth with his hand. The best kind of sex is the sex where he goes down on you, while you grab his hair, and you ride his mouth with your pussy. Then you kiss him and you can taste yourself on his lips, and you love the taste. The best kind of sex is the sex where Garbage is playing in the background, so you’re getting wine, kinky sex, and 90s nostalgia, and these are three of your favourite things in the whole world. 

The best kind of sex is the sex where his dick is really hurting you inside by hitting against your back wall, so you accidentally say ‘maybe you should just put it in the back hole instead’, and you instantly regret it, because you know that there’s no going back now.

The best kind of sex is the sex where you let him give you anal, even though you haven’t done it for so long, because you have that rule now about not receiving unless you’ve given first. But you break that rule for him, because he’s already been in your arsehole, in fact he was the last guy in your arsehole.

The best kind of sex is the sex where he fucks you in front of a mirror because he wants you to see yourself being abused. Sex where you hate it, but you love it, but you hate it, but you love it.

The best kind of sex is the sex where he falls off the bed and you can’t stop laughing, the sex where you accidentally push one of his balls back up inside him, so he looks really angry when he cums. The sex where he cums on your face, in your hair, and a little bit in one of your eyes.

The best kind of sex is the sex where he cuddles you after to comfort you after all the nasty things he did to your body. Where you can be gentle and spoon each other, and you sleep like this in a post sex glow.

The best kind of sex is the sex where you wake up in the morning and he wants to fuck you again, but you’re half asleep, so he wanks over your face. But it’s taking ages, and you accidentally start talking about recycling and contact lenses, which he tells you is not good sex talk, but you both laugh about it.

The best kind of sex is the sex where he wants you to wank him off instead, and says that most girls aren’t that good at it, but the way you do it feels amazing, so you give him one of the best hand jobs you’ve ever given, and he comes all over your tits, while looking and sounding like he just had the best orgasm of his life.

The best kind of sex is the sex where he says for some reason he thought it might be shit, but he had a great time, because he really has a way with words, and it reminds you of the backhanded compliment Hugh Grant gave you once about your stand-up.

The best kind of sex is the sex you can feel the next day (and the day after that). Sex where you’re hungover, and both your holes are throbbing. Sex where your whole body aches, where you ache in places you didn’t think it was possible to ache in after sex. Sex where you have the beginning of a bruise on your cheek from where he slapped you over and over, and when you get in the shower, your nipples sting under the water from how sore and swollen they are. Sex where while you’re typing this, you can feel the cystitis that you knew was coming.

The best kind of sex is the sex where it’s violent, painful, pleasurable, affectionate, intimate, and most of all – fun. The best kind of sex is the kind of sex you want to have all over again…